


The Frosch Prince of Berlin

by Wright661



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wright661/pseuds/Wright661
Summary: The Mighty Neon live in a shared university accomodation.Essek gets put on academic probation, and needs something to do for the next few months.Caleb needs a cover for knowing magic, and what better cover than having their resident wizard tutor him?Everybody else is witnessing an excellent opportunity for matchmaking.Of course they’re going to take it.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 13
Kudos: 153





	1. Sequester (Essek I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequester: 7th Level Transmutation  
> Duration: Until Dispelled  
> Range: Touch  
> Components: Verbal, Somatic, Material

Frankly, Essek would have thought that academic probation would feel more like a punishment than it did. Sure, it stung a little, and it really did force him to postpone some of his more official plans. But, on the other hand, he now had a hell of a lot of free time- two months until the actual hearing!- very little of which he really had to spend working on his own defence. He had a sterling reputation, a boatload of staff who would back him as being polite, studious and incredibly thorough, and an excellent poker face.

Plus, the only thing he’d done wrong was getting caught.

...

When he pushed open the door of the share-house, he was immediately bombarded with a wall of sound, laughter and excited argument. Essek sighed. Moving in with a house full of undergraduates had seemed like a good idea at the time. Less likely that they questioned his… unconventional hours. What he hadn’t considered, when deciding to live with five young adults and their landlady is that they would try, continually, endlessly, to befriend him. Jester (Tiefling, 21, somehow not a student?), kept handing him bags full of miscellaneous baked goods, some of them home-made, others considerably more edible. Caduceus (Firbolg, 24, studying biomedical science), repeatedly insisted that he join them for the dinners he cooked, and continued, after multiple strenuous refusals, leaving plates of warm food at Essek’s firmly closed door. Fjord (Half-Orc, 29, had inexplicably changed his accent recently) was obviously intimidated by Essek’s very presence, but still attempted, very blatantly, to charm him every time he was in the same room as the other man. Veth (Halfling, ??, legally a landlady? Maybe?) was somehow the most invasive of all of them, almost having a sixth sense about whenever anybody entered or exited the building.

At least the other two weren’t openly invasive. On the other hand, that meant he knew a lot less about them. Beauregard was belligerent, snarky, and definitely spent an unreasonable amount of time at the campus’s gym. He’d seen her kick an orange out of the air with unexpected precision, and her reflexes left little to be desired. She was also, he had come to realise, incredibly, and unfortunately for him, nosy. Twice, he had found her with her nose in his research, which indicated a certain level of intelligence, but also a certain lack of personal boundaries. Caleb, on the other hand, was something for an enigma. He’d been in this share-house longer than any of them, and seemed to spend days alone in his room. When he emerged, unshaven and sleepless, he was perfectly charming company, albeit more guarded than the rest of the house put together. He was an exchange student, apparently, from…Munich? Vienna? Wherever he hailed from, he seemed reluctant to discuss. Understandable. The German Empire had hardly ever held personal freedoms highly, and it seemed they saw no reason to break centuries of tradition. And, yet, it was from the lips of random strangers that he had heard the most about this man. Caleb Widogast was a genius, a celebrity in the surprisingly wide world of biological academia. At 30, already having classified some six dozen new varieties of frog was apparently something of a coup. He’d already heard several students refer to Widogast as the Frog Prince.

All in all, he felt, an incredibly curious group of roommates.

...

‘Mister Essek! Good to see you. Will you be joining us for dinner?’

Damn it. He hadn’t actually planned for dinner tonight, and he already knew that the fridge in his room was concerningly bare.

‘I think I will, Caduceus. Thank you for inviting me.’

‘Weeeeeelllll, I did some painting, which was super fun and I think it’s going to turn out really great, and then I handed out so many flyers for the Traveller you guys, it will be official in no time.’

‘How many cultists do you technically need to count as official anyway?’

‘It’s not a cult, **Beau** , and like technically, its five hundred, which is a lot, but everyone who joins will pass it on, so we’ll get there in no time.’

‘Jester’s right, Beau, it’s not a cult at all.’

‘See, Beau? Fjord understands.’

‘It’s a pyramid scheme.’

‘Fjooord!’

Veth’s table was far too small for nine people at the best of times, and the end of the day was hardly the best of times. The combination of end-of-day adrenaline and exasperated conversation meant that voices grew louder than their owners potentially intended. At least the food was excellent, and the multiple conversations meant that Essek could pass unnoticed, for a while at least.

‘And, er, Essek. How was your day?’

It was like Caleb had read his mind. Essek exhaled, and turned to face the auburn-haired man, as the rest of the conversations noticeably died down. Perfect.

‘It was…unexpected. I believe I will have a lot more free time than I had before.’

‘Wait, what’s happening? Are we talking about Essek’s probation?’

The room was entirely silent as Beau asked her piece, and Essek only had time to wince before the barrage of questions arrived.

‘You’re on probation?’

‘How do you even get on probation? Worst they ever gave me was basically detention.’

‘Did you, what, kill somebody?’

‘Jester, you do not get put on probation for murder.’

‘It’s **worse** than **murder**?’

It took Caduceus almost a minute of pointed coughs to kill the last of the discussion. Then, he smiled slowly, and turned to Essek.

‘There you are, Mister Essek. I’m sure we’re all interested in what you have to say.’

‘Thank you, Caduceus. Yes, as Beauregard so charmingly revealed, I have been put on academic probation.’ An insouciant shrug from Beau. ‘I’m certain that I will be acquitted when the time comes. My hearing is two months from now. I’m sure I will find a way to pass the time until then. And, if I am entirely honest, I would prefer no more questions.’

‘Fair enough.’

...

He had worked late again. He’d seen a thread, or so he had thought, between temporal shunting and the ‘wristpocket’, and had spent several hours trying to unravel it, before realising it had been another deadend. It was frustrating sometimes, the weeks without any progress, real or imagined, days on end without even a hint of the light at the end of the tunnel. He was so sick of it. He lay his head down on the desk, not at all comforted by the cool sensation of paper on his skin, and pulled a breath through his nose, and the out of his mouth. He needed a break. Something to do for two months, without access to the university’s resources. Maybe he should take up knitting.

And then he heard the faint knock at the door.


	2. Find Familiar (Caleb I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find Familiar: 1st Level Conjuration  
> Duration: Instantaneous  
> Range: 10 feet, or 3 metres  
> Components: Verbal, Somatic, Material

Caleb was incredibly, endlessly, indescribably sick of frogs. Four years without a word from his native tongue that he had not uttered, four years without the friends and family that he had long ago left behind, and four years without a single second of research that had not involved frogs. Their habitats, anatomy, breeding, he could recite it all now without even pausing to think, and he still spent more days than not locked inside his room, flicking arcane lights from hand to hand, more to remind himself that he was capable of it than anything else. Frumpkin still seemed satisfied to be worn as a scarf, whether inside or outside, and really, very few people were willing to question the eccentricities of the ‘Newton of Amphibious Herpetology’, as one sycophantic journalist had labelled him. And yet, there was one tiny, gaping flaw that caused the back of his neck to burn under the unsuspecting gaze of those around him. Caleb Widogast was even proud of that flaw, given how much he had been inclined to boast of it in his research. Caleb Widogast, wherever he was, oblivious in Trier, or a prison under the Akademie, or some shallow, unmarked grave, had never studied even the basics of the arcane, not so much as a cantrip.

Which, as his familiar lay across his shoulders, as sparks of flame danced from finger to finger, as a spectral hand brought him more notes on gods-damned frogs, was something of a problem.

…

‘You’re burned out.’

He didn’t bother trying to stifle the hollow laugh he made at that, then raised his hands in concession to the terminally offended Veth.

‘You’re right, of course. It just reminded me of an…inside joke.’

‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’

‘What am I going to do about it? I am not hoping for an escape here. I am merely trying to vent my frustrations.’

‘You need a holiday.’

‘I do not need a holiday.’

‘You’re depressed!’

‘I am not depressed, Veth.’

‘You are so depressed, and I know exactly what’s causing it.’

‘This is not because of Mollymauk.’

His halfling friend was almost crowing now, and he could see the sly triumph in her eyes at his words.

‘Who said anything about Molly?’

‘You did, Veth. Nonstop, for seven months.’

‘You were trying to hide your feelings, miserably. A mother knows these things.’

Veth, a mother though she was, decidedly did not know these things. Nevertheless, Caleb did not feel ready for an unwinnable discussion.

‘Perhaps you are right.’

‘I KNEW IT!’

‘Not about Mollymauk.’

‘You’ll have to admit it one day.’

‘I may need a holiday.’

…

Dinner was…nice. The food was lovely, of course, Caduceus being who he was, and he had even managed to wrangle their drow housemate into a seat at the table. Caleb was, honestly, unsure how to feel about the man, who leaned back in his chair, apparently satiated, eyes darting from conversation to conversation. He was nothing like their other new resident, the pastel firbolg that spoke with the kind of reassuring tones that made most everybody feel more at ease.

Of course, Caleb didn’t begrudge him for the less immediate integration into the group. Gods knew it had taken months of awkward conversations with Fjord and snide smiles from Beau for him to truly think of the others as his friends. But now, seated in a warm kitchen, cat curled on his lap, surrounded by the din of joyful discussion, he was happy. He couldn’t remember when these people started feeling like home.

Perhaps it was that bittersweet nostalgia of less happy times that prompted him to direct his question towards Essek.

‘And, er, Essek. How was your day?’

It was, of course, asked at precisely the wrong intersection between multiple conversations, and asked broadly enough that every ear capable of swivelling, and several that were not, swivelled in the direction of Essek’s calm poker-face.

‘It was…unexpected. I believe I will have a lot more free time than I had before.’

Focused as he was on Essek’s response, Caleb didn’t have time to process the appraising look on Beau’s face, the slight tilt of curiosity to her head before she delivered her own question.

After that, unfortunately, there was neither chance nor real inclination for idle small talk.

…

‘How did you know he was on probation?’

‘Dairon told me. Apparently, I need to be alert while living with some academic criminal or whatever.’

‘Dairon said that?’

‘Eh, something like that. Anyway, isn’t it weird that he didn’t mention it before?’

‘Not particularly, no. You gave him barely enough time to finish his sentence before bringing it up, not to mention that it is not really any of our business in the first place.’

‘I mean, I guess, but don’t you want to know what he did to get put on probation?’

‘I am curious, ja, but I do not think that it is worth invading his privacy over.’

‘You’re no fun. Who knows, maybe we’ll all become besties. You of all people should know what spending time with Jester does to people.’

‘Ja, that is true. We both have benefited from her convivial influence.’

‘Hey, what’s that s'posed to mean?’

‘You no longer threaten to hit people as a greeting. I think all of us have changed for the better.’

‘Huh. Yeah, I guess. Anyway, we should both keep an eye on Essek.’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’

‘Hey, if Dairon’s telling me to be alert, I’m probably gonna listen. Plus, dude’s gonna have a hell of a lot more free time, starting now. Who knows what nefarious bullshit he’s got up his sleeves?’

‘His owning sleeves does not make him more predisposed to bullshit, Beauregard.’

‘Sure.’

…

Declaring oneself as being on a holiday was one thing. Actually enforcing it was another. A half-dozen different times, Caleb had to stop himself from opening a new paper on some new species of amphibian. Eventually, he found himself lying flat on his bed, Frumpkin curled comfortably on his stomach, twitching his fingers and watching as the globules of light above his head spun and twisted, blinking in and out of existence like fool’s fire. He missed magic, a bone-deep longing for his lost years of youthful genius, the simple flick of a wrist and a component that could create marvels, shaping flame and flesh and will like a sculptor with his pick of clay. He hadn’t cast as much as a cantrip outside of this room in four long years, he could feel his talents atrophy with every day that passed, and he almost wept at that aching departure. He couldn’t just let the spark of the arcane burn its way out of his mind, and yet he couldn’t just release that spark to its every hungry whim. He needed discipline. He needed a mentor.

Which was how he found himself outside Essek’s door at half-past two, hesitating, and then knocking quietly at the rough wood.


	3. Knock (Essek II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock: 2nd Level Transmutation  
> Duration: Instantaneous  
> Range: 60 feet, or 18 metres  
> Components: Verbal

‘Caleb? What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Herr Essek, I just thought I might ask you a favour, in relation to your, er, mastery of the arcane.’

‘In the middle of the night?’

The auburn-haired man paused, ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, and glanced at his watch in despair.

‘Schiesse, is that the time? I am so sorry, I had not realised. I will, er, I will talk to you in the morning, if you wish, or perhaps another day, I should probably get some sleep.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’ve piqued my interest. What sort of a favour?’

‘Ah. Could we speak inside?’

...

Essek hadn’t been lying. Caleb had piqued his interest. The other man was something of a mystery, a niche celebrity recluse living in a sharehouse in London. It was perfectly natural to find that combination, strange, and even interesting. The man in question followed Essek’s gesturing hand and entered, then stood at an awkward attention, eyes wandering the spartan room. Two desks, one for work, the other for private research. A bed, made perfectly and symmetrically with a flick of his wrist after waking that morning. A spotless floor, unmarked walls, a small bookcase filled with hand-written notebooks and arcane texts, organised by ease of access. Essek gestured once more, and a transparent hand dragged a chair from where it sat next to his desk to the still-standing human. Caleb sat. Essek remained standing.

‘So, Caleb, what is this favour you need?’

‘Well, er, I am finding myself at something of a crossroads. I think I perhaps need a break in my studies. A shift in perspectives, ja?’

‘That is eminently understandable. However, I am afraid what I do not understand is what my part in all this is to be.’

‘I have, ah, experimented, shall we say, with some of the basics of arcane magic. The results have been…promising, but unfocused. If you are willing, I would ask for your assistance in my education.’

‘How very fascinating.’

Essek pulled out a chair of his own, and sat, eyes level with the other man’s furrowed brow.

‘Fascinating?’

‘I will admit, when the campus celebrity, Mr. Caleb Widogast, asks me for a favour, I do not expect him to ask for tutoring. Especially in the arcane.’

‘I am not a celebrity.’

‘I think you would find many who would disagree. Your essays on amphibian herpetology are somehow popular even outside the school of biology. They are very well-written, I will give you that.’

‘You have read my papers?’

‘I assure you, if anyone else in this house had published in a peer-reviewed journal, I would give them the same courtesy. Though I do not think any of the others would have such vocal pride in their lack of arcane ability.’

‘I was a different person then. And, to be entirely honest, that is why I have come to you first.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Ja. I would rather not display my about-face on the subject so blatantly. I have my pride.’

‘As do we all. What have you achieved up until this point?’

‘Several cantrips, and a few first level spells, but nothing too complicated.’

‘Please. Demonstrate.’

Caleb reached into an inside pocket, and retrieved between his fingers something that burned with a painful light. He spread his fingers and mumbled a few words, and suddenly the burning between his fingers grew like globules of divine fire, one and then two and then four, dividing like radiant cells that flew to each corner of the roof. It would have been an impressive display of artistry from a fledgling wizard, if it had not been soured by the intense headache that it caused in the drow. He covered his eyes and winced, and seeing the reaction, Caleb closed his hands into fists, drawing the lights back into his palm until they were nothing more than a smear of phosphorus.

‘I am so sorry, that was foolish of me. I did not think.’

‘No, you did not. On the other hand, that was an impressively well-formed cantrip. Do you have a spellbook of your own?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Bring it, along with yourself, this afternoon. I should have stopped seeing spots by then. I wish to see what else you can do.’

...

As the sun rose, Essek lay on his bed, eyes shut tight, and curtains covering as much of the window as possible. He really needed to find the time to board up the glass. Perhaps if he asked Veth? She did own the house, and would almost certainly be excited for some DIY renovations. At least he had a project now, to tide him over until the probation hearing. Caleb had been quick to downplay his own abilities, and to ask an effective stranger for this sort of assistance? It was almost unheard of, at least in most established arcane circles. Perhaps he was just a novice, a hobbyist with time on his hands. And yet, the practical flair and confidence that the redhaired man had cast the spell with spoke of years of experience and practice. Essek had a hunch. And he trusted his own hunches. It seemed Widogast was something of a fraud, not that he personally had any right or inclination to judge on that basis. It was all very curious. And he would make sure that he had plenty of time to solve this little mystery.


	4. Darkvision (Caleb II)

“Learning” from Essek was proving to be far more rewarding than Caleb had expected. Long forgotten talents had re-emerged over the past few weeks, and he had had to restrain himself from demonstrating some of the intuitive shortcuts that he had personally developed, years ago. How to curl the wire between your fingers to guard a message from prying arcane ears. How to imbue a pearl with faint radiant light to identify hidden enchantments or curses. The special mix of char and motherwort that made a familiar seem nothing more than a regular animal.

And yet, there seemed to be a gap between them, a separation in their intrinsic understandings of the workings of the arcane. For Caleb, each spell was separate, coldly divorced in each casting. But for Essek, they each had their own weight, their own subtle pull that twisted and changed the sorcery inherent in them. An illusion that he cast after a conjured cloud of fog would be less distinct, an uncertainty that served to cover for any flaws in the charm itself. Caleb had asked his newfound mentor about this quality of his magic, only for Essek to eye him critically and then move on, as if not understanding the question.

It was midnight. Well, to be as precise as Caleb knew how to be, it was 12:09 am. Essek’s crisp knock sounded against his door. Unusual, perhaps, but not unexpected. They both knew that the other hadn’t really been sleeping, anyway. He carefully shifted the purring form of Frumpkin from his chest to a nearby pillow, and then moved himself off the bed on which he had been sprawled. By the time he had opened the door, Essek had already begun to stride quietly down the dark hallway, only pausing to turn back for a second, checking that Caleb was following him. He was, barefoot and wrapped in a thin dressing gown, facts which didn’t overly concern him, until Essek opened the back door and stepped outside. Still, he didn’t hesitate, and merely stifled a flinch when the soles of his feet made contact with the cold, dewy grass.

It was pitch-black outside. Street lamps were nowhere to be seen, although, to be fair, neither was anything else. Caleb stood in the dark, and inhaled cold air through his nose, and out of his mouth, wondering at the shapes his breath had taken in the blinding gloom.

‘Guten morgen, Essek. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Good morning, Caleb. I thought I might assist you with something of a practical demonstration.’

‘How very kind of you. Of what sort?’

‘Observe.’

‘Very well.’

Caleb grasped a pinch of phosphorus, and dragged it across the palm of his hand, the chemical beginning to burn and cast a faint smear of light in the darkness, before it erupted into four globules of fire. In the few seconds of sudden light, Caleb could see Essek snap his fingers and mutter a single word, before the orbs were rapidly extinguished by the encroaching darkness.

‘I said, observe. I did not say, make light.’

‘Essek, I do not have your eyes.’

‘You wish to be a transmuter, do you not? What is stopping you?’

Essek was right. Caleb had very little desire to return to his previous specialities in evocation. Transmutation had proven to be a fascinating alternative. He re-entered the house, careful to keep the door from creaking or slamming, and returned after a minute, with a piece of dried carrot clutched in his freezing, left hand. Caduceus was fond of it as a snack. With his right, he made the necessary symbol and muttered the right words, and then it was as if he had been born with the same advantages as his new mentor. He could see Essek waiting impatiently on the lawn, the cracked pavements, the curling grass, and the cloud of darkness that clung to the top of the nearest lamppost.

‘Finally. Let’s begin.’

‘Excellent. You are progressing at an admirable pace.’

‘Thank you very much, Herr Lehrer.’

‘Now, for one final demonstration. You wished to know about the…connections between my spells, for lack of a clearer term.’

‘Ja.’

‘Very well. I believe this may be a side effect of our different philosophies on the substance and classification of magic. As an example, how would you describe the practice of magic?’

‘Hmmm. I would say that magic is application of one’s will upon the universe. It is shaping one’s world to be closer to one’s desires.’

‘Fascinating. I had thought your answer would be something along those lines, but it is a very interesting way of thinking. Apologies for the generalisation, but that is a very… Dwendalian way of thinking.’

‘The apologies are not necessary. I am of the Empire. We are all slaves to our upbringing.’

‘Very true, and I believe that my own opinions of the substance of the arcane have been influenced by my own Kryn education. I, personally would say that magic is akin to a conversation between the universe and yourself, or a negotiation. There is give and take, push and pull.’

‘That does not seem to be an unreasonable interpretation.’

‘I do not think so either. However, it more than that. How similar would you say many of the schools of magic are?’

‘There are similarities, of course, but they are still distinct in their own ways.’

‘Interesting. There, I would disagree with you. I would say that there are differences, but that are still intrinsically connected.’

‘And that is why your magic acts the way it does?’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps it is a side-effect of my studies of graviturgy. Or perhaps a quirk unique to me. It has been a long time since I worked so closely with another mage. Perhaps I just had not noticed my own differences.’

‘Ja, perhaps. Thank you for your time, and your patience, Herr Essek. Thank you for helping me see as you can.’

‘It was my pleasure. Like I said, it has been a long time. Caleb?’

‘Yes?’

‘Would you like to assist me in some of my studies? I think you would be most helpful.’

‘That sounds extremely interesting. I think I might take you up on that offer.’

‘Excellent.’

‘For the moment, however, I think I might return inside. It is very cold out here.’

‘Of course.’

They stayed in the dewy dark for several more minutes, watching insects swarm together in the chilly air, and silently glancing upwards, towards the faint outlines of the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this for a while, due to a combination of getting back into studying, and dissatisfaction with this chapter. I'm still not totally satisfied with it, but at least I've finished it now, which is more than I could say for the last few months. If you are enjoying this fic, rest assured, it's not quite dead yet, and I'm going to be doing my best to keep it alive. However, I also have a combination of study, a musical, and life to also wrestle with, so I can't promise anything resembling a consistent upload schedule for the next two months at least.
> 
> On the other hand, thank you all so much for your kudoses, and your lovely comments. This is the second fic I've ever posted, and (hopefully, if all goes to plan) the first one I'll actually finish, and it's genuinely heartwarming to think that people actually enjoy it. I hope you're all doing okay, and remembering to take time for yourselves.


	5. Gravity Sinkhole (Essek III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gravity Sinkhole: 4th Level Evocation  
> Duration: Instantaneous  
> Range: 120 feet, or 36 metres (20 foot, or 6 metre sphere)  
> Components: Verbal, Somatic, Material

It was difficult to find adequate spaces to experiment, without the backing of the university behind him. Up until this point, Essek had wasted what little time he had devoted to research on purely theoretical pursuits, and the fruits of that labour were inconsequential at best. And, if he was being honest with himself, he’d put more effort into Widogast’s training than he had for any of his actual work. But, self-discipline was an important trait for any student of the arcane, and while the Zemnian was a fascinating pupil, graviturgy would always prove an infinitely more satisfying direction of effort.

Which was why, at midnight halfway between a Wednesday and a Thursday, that he sat himself down on a conjured lounge chair in a public park, and examined the clay he had given himself to work with. What stared back was a mess of steel and wood chips, scored with worn paint, and the blood, sweat and tears of innumerable diminutive brats. It wasn’t the most inspiring of canvases, but luckily, Essek was not an artist. He was an academic, first and foremost, and he resolved to treat this as just another experiment. Nevertheless, when he stepped forward, letting the jet-black marble roll on his cold palms, he couldn’t deny feeling an anticipation born of joy.

The first orb of darkness tore itself into non-existence over the slide, pulling the plastic from its moorings and twisting it into uselessness before Essek could let the spell fail. He closed his eyes and breathed, just for a moment. Control was key. Focus was key. He was the master of this power, and he would prove himself capable of wielding it like a scalpel. He conjured the second rift further away, gave himself more time, as the steel groaned and slowly shifted. He balanced the second out with a third directly below the moulded steel, catching it between two near-infinite forces for just a moment, before releasing both of them. Now, the metal bridge spun at angles the eye could barely comprehend, still clinging to faint remnants of that gravitational pull, curving gracefully as a whole. Perfect.

His skills had atrophied somewhat, that was undeniable, but the power was familiar, and Essek was willing to bet that his atrophied mastery was more than a match for any other scholar he knew. He had tested his control, twisting the broken slide into smoothly curving plastic once more, but now held aloft by its own subtle weight. At the small cabin at the front, he had held a rift inside for almost half a minute, letting it slowly implode without consigning any of the contents to oblivion. The supporting beams had been pulled, spiralling uneasily, and still holding all the weight they previously had.

When he finally sat himself back down in the chair, it had become damp with dew, but he was too thrilled with adrenaline and pride to care. He had needed this, the reminder of his own ability to refocus his efforts. He took one final look at his creation, before standing, dematerialising the chair, and then teleporting into his own back garden.

…

Essek didn’t normally go in for breakfast. In his imposed exile, he’d become more and more nocturnal, and he had plenty of other avenues to socialise with his housemates, when he rarely felt the need to. But when he raised his head from his redoubled studies to see that the sun had risen while he worked, he decided to go downstairs and make himself a cup of tea.

Tea, in Essek’s mind at least, was one of the few pleasures in this world that he himself could not have developed. Instantaneous communication from anywhere in the world? All that needed was a third-level spell slot and a whiff of imagination. A database that could hold millions of libraries worth of information? Unnecessary, and blatantly more trouble than it was worth. But the refreshing scent of dried leaves in hot water? Now the mind behind that creation was a genius, no doubt.

Typically, Essek put the kettle on at any between 11pm and 3am, when none of his housemates were actually in the kitchen. He knew Caduceus especially seemed to be something of a connoisseur, but he had learned the hard way that any conversation started with the firbolg would inevitably descend into an uncomfortably personal introspection. Essek had no desire to repeat that, and really, there was nothing deeper buried in his choice of beverage. He had just realised some time ago that the fruitier teas that he preferred were, well, unprofessional, and had relegated himself to a, still enjoyable, but admittedly less fun, green tea.

And so, it was that when Essek descended the stairs and saw Caleb seated alone at the voluminous kitchen table, drinking orange juice and reading from a three-day-old newspaper, he switched on the kettle, placed a green teabag into a vacant mug, and sat down across from the other man.

‘Good morning, Herr Essek.’

‘Good morning, Caleb. Anything new?’

‘Ah, no. This is a few days old, I believe.’

That had been a joke. Since when did he make jokes? Thankfully, Caleb had not seemed to notice. Essek waited until the kettle had boiled and his tea brewed to try conversation again.

‘Are you enjoying your studies, Caleb?’

‘Into biology? Ja, ja, it is what I have always been fascinated with.’

‘Fantastic. However, I was inquiring about _our_ studies.’

‘Of course. Yes, of course I have been enjoying them. The applications of magic you have outlined are…wonderful, incredibly interesting.’

‘Tell me, Caleb. What are you hoping to gain by these studies?’

‘As I said before, I am hoping for a...’

‘New perspective, yes. I don’t know about you, but that seems incredibly vague to me. You could gain a new perspective from any number of avenues of research, and I fail to grasp how the arcane in particular would give you any more insight into herpetology.’

‘That is fair. I will admit, I have been somewhat intentionally vague about my ambitions. I…have a journal article coming up. You will forgive me if I do not share the details too closely with you. Arcana, and especially transmutation, hold great promise for me, with the aim of developing my research.’

How very interesting. Essek didn’t believe Widogast for a second. The man was obviously a practised liar, but so was he.

Perhaps he was…?

No.

The Versammlung knew he was too clever to be caught out like that, and the timelines didn’t match up at all well. They needed him onside.

Unless?

Very well. A test for Master Widogast.

‘Have you heard about the incident nearby? No? We should go take a look. It might prove a good practical demonstration of the uses of Graviturgy.’


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Identify: 1st Level Divination  
> Duration: Instantaneous  
> Range: Touch  
> Components: Verbal, Somatic, Material

The public park was far from idyllic, if Caleb was being brutally honest. The grass had obviously suffered from a blistering summer, without receiving any of the care necessary to return it to some sort of pleasing state. The trees were either threadbare or overgrown, seemingly without rhyme or reason as to which was which. And, most obvious, and yet somehow least grievous, the children’s playground was twisted and warped, steel and plastic and wood torn from their moorings. It still stood, and despite the jarring presence of a neon-yellow police tape surrounding the site, there were half a dozen children clambering on and around the wreckage, apparently delighted with this unsanctioned renovation to their park.

Essek let him examine it in silence for a while, but it was obvious that his erstwhile mentor wanted his opinions on the structure, and so, Caleb gave them.

‘Very interesting.’

‘Isn’t it just? It obviously took a significant amount of control on the arcanist’s behalf.’

‘Obviously. A great deal of time and focus I would say. To what end?’

‘Study, I would assume. Why else expend such effort without any discernible direction?’

‘I’m not sure I would agree that there is no direction in this work.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Well, I may be mistaken, but from my perspective, I would say that it resembles a cat.’

After a suitable period of silence, Caleb spared a glance to his companion, and stifled a chuckle at seeing Essek staring dumbstruck at the decidedly feline aspects of the playground’s new form, before setting his jaw stubbornly.

‘I do not see it.’

‘No?’ Caleb said evenly, gesticulating for the other man. ‘Those four wooden poles are the legs, the remnants of the slide make up the tail.’

‘That is purely coincidence.’

‘Now those metal bars, they would be the whiskers.’

‘This is utterly absurd, Caleb. Not only are you ignoring the overall form of the structure, those are also completely unlike whiskers.’

‘Do you not think it looks like Frumpkin when he is kneading?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

‘Very well, Herr Essek. I bow to your superior grasp of the aesthetic arts.’

They stood there for a little longer in silence, and Caleb could have sworn that, in the few glances he stole, Essek was still examining the feline sculpture, his mauve skin tinted with a blush of indigo.

…

‘What does it even mean, Beauregard? What am I meant to think?’

‘I don’t fuckin’ know, man. Does it have to mean something?’

‘I don’t know! He wanted me to see it? Surely that has to mean something?’

‘Are you sure he even did it?’

‘Ja. Ja, it was heavily implied.’

‘Wait, so he used, what? Reality tearing magic to mess up a playground? For kids?’

‘Uh, ja.’

‘And you’re worried this is some sort of weird courting ritual?’

‘What? Is that what it means?’

‘I mean, not necessarily. Wouldn’t that be weird though?’

‘It was some very impressive spellcraft…’

‘Oh, I’m sure his spellcraft is real impressive.’

‘Shut up, Beauregard.’

‘But for real, man, aren’t you at all curious about Essek? Like he’s just generally a shady dude.’

‘That seems unnecessarily harsh.’

‘What? He spends so much time being all reclusive and mysterious and stuff. He’s like a fuckin’ angsty teenager. And he’s on probation! How the fuck did he manage that?’

‘Beauregard. Please. Please tell me you are not jealous of this man for being put on academic probation.’

‘I’m not jealous, alright, I’m just…look, I’ve done some shit, y’know.’

‘Oh, I know.’

‘I enjoy defying authority.’

‘One might call it a pathologic need.’

‘Fuck you. Anyway, the point is, I’ve broken into buildings, stolen shit, broken shit I’ve stolen, et cetera, and the most I’ve ever gotten was fined! Don’t you want to know what he did?’

‘If you so desperately wish to be placed under probation, Beauregard, I will endeavour to aid you in this undertaking.’

‘Yeah, yeah, this is definitely about me. Keep tellin’ yourself that.’

…

The Dean of Arcana’s office was, to put it kindly, an utter fucking mess. Caleb was already aware of this, of course, having dealt with more than his fair share of arcane academics. As a rule, all sense of everyday order in their minds had been replaced by an in-depth understanding of the order of the universe, an impressive feat that nonetheless was particularly frustrating when it collided with the stodgy reality that was administration.

Rather closer to home, however, was the stodgy reality of attempting to steal probation papers while the Dean herself was out at lunch, an action which was less of a metaphorical collision, and more like the twenty minutes spent afterwards, desperately trying to get the other party’s insurance details. Decidedly not helping in the meantime, was one Beauregard Lionett, who instead spent her time flipping through the official minutes of college meetings, and pointing out the various hypocrisies.

‘God, they’re all such fucking assholes.’

‘Ja, I realise, you have mentioned that fact. Are you going to help me, or not?’

‘Nah. There’s way too much shit in here, I’d just get in your way. Anyway, can believe the shit these bastards ignore? This guy just straight up wants to ban necromancy courses. How fuckin’ boring is that?’

‘What a crime. Truly a disgrace to whatever position said asshole holds.’

‘That’s the thing! He’s the Research Director of Necromancy! What is his deal?’

‘Utterly inscrutiable. He probably wants more paid leave.’

‘I’d fucking pay him to leave.’

‘Mmhmm…gods, finally, the probation documents. Ok, lets see, here…found it! Essek is the most recent case file.’

‘About damn time! What’s the charge, boss?’

‘I’m looking, I’m looking. Hmm. Disregard for University Property and Personnel.’

‘Is that it? Yawn.’

‘Not quite. Are you familiar with the ongoing renovations of the Graviturgical Research facilities?’

‘Nope.’

‘Suffice to say that they do not appear to have been entirely pre-planned.’

‘He blew up a fucking building?’

‘Well, more like blew in, but ja, it appears so.’

‘That’s cool as hell. What was he researching?’

‘Hmm. It says here…Possible Applications of Graviturgy in Medical Science?’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Obviously.’

…

‘So what are you going to do?’

Caleb, perched as he was on the arm of Frumpkin’s chair, turned to where Beau had slumped herself over the length of the sofa.

‘What?’

‘About Essek. What are you going to do about Essek?’

‘I, ah, wasn’t planning on doing anything in particular. He is already under probation, Beauregard, it is not my responsibility to punish the guilty.’

‘Wimp. What I meant, was, like, interpersonally. You still want a guy who imploded a building doing “medical research” teaching you fucking anything, especially magic?’

‘At least this proves he has talent. And, I am sure he has learned some sense of caution from that mistake.’

‘Fuck off, you don’t believe that for a second. I know you’re planning something, Caleb, I can fuckin’ tell.’

Caleb rose carefully from his perch, gently lifting Frumpkin from where he slept, before straightening, and looking Beau dead in the eyes.

‘I am not planning anything.’

And with that lie, he calmly left the room, followed by the decisively less calm shouting from his friend, demanding that he _tell me this fuckin’ instant exactly what stupid idea you’re cooking up, there’s no way I’m letting you do this without me, asshole_.

He didn’t pay her any heed, however. He’d ask her opinion eventually. For now, however, he and his cat had a date to plan. And a drow to ask out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, a mandatory not dead, both for me and this fic.
> 
> Second of all, some housekeeping. I haven't really kept up with Critical Role since the break last year, though that is something that I would like to remedy as soon as I can. I have, however, got a pretty good idea of everything that has happened since the break, including Caduceus being confirmed as aroace! I'm really happy to see that, since there really needs to be more fleshed-out representation of both asexual and aromantic people. I still love Fjorclay as a ship, and I do have another piece planned for after this one focusing on them. However, I am neither aro nor ace, and I would prefer to become far more well educated on both identities before writing a fic with a canon aroace character in a romantic relationship. 
> 
> All of this is to say, I am going to be retiring both the Fjorclay and the Beaujester aspects of this piece. I personally feel that the fic would become disjointed if I only retired the Fjorclay plot, as I am far too attached to the rule of threes. To be honest, both subplots were meant to serve as a distraction for myself, to counteract my own difficulties with focusing on one specific piece of writing. As might be obvious given the many long gaps without updates, that hasn't necessarily worked. 
> 
> I'm sorry if anybody was specifically reading this fic for either of those pairings. The best that I can promise is that I'll probably be writing more of both some undefined time in the future.
> 
> TL;DR: Both the Fjorclay and Beaujester subplots are going to be retired, and the chapters I've already uploaded are going to be removed. I'll rewrite the description as soon as possible.


End file.
